The Clarion eBook

In vain Hal strove to catch a clue from the confused
voices. He had made a note of it for future inquiry,
when some one called out: “Mac Ellis hasn’t
said anything yet.” The others caught it
up. “Speech from Mac!”—­“Don’t
let him out.”—­“If you can’t
speak, sing a song.”—­“Play a
tune on the bazoo.”—­“Hike
him up there, somebody.”—­“Silence
for the MacGuire!!”

“I’ve never made a speech in my life,”
said Ellis, glowering about him, “and you fellows
know it. But last night I read this in Plutarch:
’Themistocles said that he certainly could not
make use of any stringed instrument; could only, were
a small and obscure city put into his hands, make
it great and glorious.’”

Ellis paused, lifting one hand. “Fellows,”
he said, and he turned sharply to face Hal Surtaine,
“I don’t know how the devil old Themistocles
ever could do it—­unless he owned a newspaper!”

Silence followed, and then a quick acclaiming shout,
as they grasped the implicit challenge of the corollary.
Then again silence, tense with curiosity. No
doubt of what they awaited. Their expectancy drew
Hal to his feet.

“I had intended to speak but once,” he
said, in a constrained voice, “but I’ve
learned more here this afternoon—­more than—­than
I could have thought—­” He broke off
and threw up his hand. “I’m no newspaper
man,” he cried. “I’m only an
amateur, a freshman at this business. But one
thing I believe; it’s the business of a newspaper
to give the news without fear or favor, and that’s
what the ‘Clarion’ is going to do from
this day. On that platform I’ll stand by
any man who’ll stand by me. Will you help?”

The answer rose and rang like a cheer. The gathering
broke into little, excited, chattering groups, sure
symptom of the success of a meeting. Much conjecture
was expressed and not a little cynicism. “Compared
to us Ishmael would be a society favorite if Surtaine
carries this through,” said one. “It
means suspension in six months,” prophesied Shearson.
But most of the men were excitedly enthusiastic.
Your newspaper man is by nature a romantic; otherwise
he would not choose the most adventurous of callings.
And the fighting tone of the new boss stimulated in
them the spirit of chance and change.

Slowly and reluctantly they drifted away to the day’s
task. At the close Hal sat, thoughtful and spent,
in a far corner when Ellis walked heavily over to
him. The associate editor gazed down at his bemused
principal for a time. From his pocket he drew
the thick blue pencil of his craft, and with it tapped
Hal thrice on the shoulder.